"You can't seriously believe that."
He's looking at her like she just took one of his favourite cameras and smashed it into a hundred tiny little pieces on purpose.
"You think," he says, and his voice is shaking (from anger or pain; she doesn't know). "That I'd be unfaithful to you?"
"You get back from work at midnight," she hisses, fists clenched over her stomach. "Every night."
His eyes close and to her horror something wet escapes from them.
"I worked later," he rasps, turning away from her. "So I could earn more. So I could buy you a ring."
Oh God.
"No," she gasps, hands clutching at her face. "I – I'm such a – Freddie."
"I guess," he says calmly, but his chest is hitching. "You won't want to – to say yes."
"Freddie," she reaches for his hand. "I'm yours, don't you know that?"
He spins around to face her, cheeks wet, and then she's in his arms.